


Broken Image

by Lumeha



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dealing with family loss, Established Relationship, Grief, Guilt, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Stephen Strange, but it's still a painful and sensible topic, except family died a long time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 13:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19335664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeha/pseuds/Lumeha
Summary: Tony blinked and reached for the picture frame that was half buried under papers, notes in the neat and tight handwriting of Wong, a bundle of fabric with threads and a needle poking out of it, and piles and piles of books with little papers between their pages. It was simple, just wood painted black and glass lightly scratched in the corners.The picture in it was a candid shot of an awkward teen sitting against one with a brilliant smile.





	Broken Image

**Author's Note:**

> **Ironstrange Bingo** : Cry  
>  **MCU Rarepair Bingo** : Cuddles
> 
> In Which The Author Deals With His Dysphoria By Having A Character Deal Somewhat With The Same Problem

Tony stretched and put his tablet on Stephen’s desk, his neck sore. He couldn’t wait for Stephen and Wong to come back. They had to leave for Kamar Taj for an important meeting between all Masters, and had promised they would come back after a week. 

While looking at the blank screen of his pad, something caught his eye. He blinked and reached for the picture frame that was half buried under papers, notes in the neat and tight handwriting of Wong, a bundle of fabric with threads and a needle poking out of it, and piles and piles of books with little papers between their pages. It was simple, just wood painted black and glass lightly scratched in the corners. 

The picture in it was a candid shot of an awkward teen sitting against one with a brilliant smile. The taller one was slouched, arms crossed on her lap, as if trying to fold her body on herself. Her head of dark, long messy hair, was tilted and turned toward the smaller one, who was speaking with what must have been animated gestures. The colours were partly faded, whites too brilliant and darks muted in almost browns, with borders fuzzy with time and the eye of an old camera lense. It had been loved and carried through thick and thin, the borders damaged and its paper feathering. 

It was obvious that this was a snapshot from Stephen’s past, from before he became a surgeon. Something the sorcerer kept silent about. Tony was surprised the frame was left on the desk, so easy to see...

\- Tony ?

He raised his head and saw Stephen at the door of the study. Levi was not hanging on his shoulders, his hair was a mess, and he looked tired, dark shadows drawn under his eyes. He was probably exhausted after the long week, but he was smiling, a soft happiness illuminating his expression. For once, everything was alright in their world, or that’s what he guessed. 

\- I hope you didn’t wait for us too long. Wong is ordering take-out.   
\- Wait ? … Oh, nah, don’t worry, I worked from here, I kept myself busy. 

Stephen looked down at his hands still holding the frame, and his shoulders tensed. A sense of unease washed over Tony. He knew Stephen would not hold it against him, knew that it was just a mix of randomness and his own curiosity that got him to look at the frame, but he understood what it was to carry a past that was hard to live with. 

\- … I saw the frame on the desk and…, Tony said, putting it back.   
\- Curiosity, cat. 

The sorcerer’s eyes were kept on the frame, his voice low. His whole body was wound tight like a bow ready to shoot.  

\- … I need Wong with us to talk about that.   
\- You don’t have…   
\- It’s time, Stephen cut him, too sharp. I just. I need Wong there too. 

Tony got up from his chair and went toward Stephen, taking his face in his hands with gentle movements. The other man was avoiding his gaze, still focused on the picture. 

(It was a ghost from a past they all pretended did not exist for them, a past before magic, aliens, Iron Man, too human for who they were now)

\- You don’t have to, Steph.   
\- I… want to. It’s just hard.    
\- Let’s ask Wong to get some ice cream with the order, and eat first,if that is good with you. 

Pale eyes focused back on him, and Stephen nodded, slow and measured, letting himself slowly unwind between the warm hands of the engineer. With whispers of sweet nothings, Tony coaxed the sorcerer to lower his head on his shoulder and scratched the back of his neck. 

\- You can take your time, Steph. We will be there for you. 

**xoxox**

Stephen was curled on himself, arms folded against his stomach, as if trying to fold his body into the tiniest version of himself. The Cloak had rolled him up in its folds and was letting him play with its hem, gently patting his cheek.

The sorcerer had kept a somber mood during their dinner, despite Tony and Wong trying their best to change his ideas. This past was weighing on him, in a way his days of arrogance and ruthlessness didn't ; a piece of his heart locked into a box, thrown in the sea, and never to be seen again. Except someone unearthed it. But he was the one holding the key. He was the one who could chose to reveal this, the only one who could explain it. 

\- You know you don’t have to, Steph, right ? Tony said again in a soft voice, taking the remnant of their meal to put it all on the coffee table. 

Stephen nodded, gestured to invite Tony to come closer to him and put his feet under his thighs, letting himself fall against Wong’s shoulder. 

\- I know. But I think I should talk to you both about her. 

He let out a small sigh when Wong carded his fingers through his hair. He tried to get himself closer to both men, full of the need to cut himself off the world and the reassurance of their warmth and presence, and they welcomed him.   

\- That picture, it’s the only one I have left of my sister Donna. We took it only a few days before she died. 

With a shaky breath, slow and deliberate, and his pale eyes avoiding the men keeping him in their embrace, he let his words fall from his tongue. His voice felt hollow and wrong, scratchy and deep, a voice she never heard.

A voice she would have liked, he hoped.  

(A voice she helped shape, in her ways)

\- … I don’t like seeing myself in pictures of before I got out of my parents’ house. But it’s the only one I have of her. And she was the only one who knew about me, who I am. 

Despite the weak grip of his hands, his fingers digged into the flesh of his arms. 

\- And I miss her.

He refused to cry ; refused to bow down to the wave of feelings that was threatening to take over him, strangle his voice and steal it. He was so close to it. 

\- So much. 

He took a deep breath and crashed with the violence of a sudden storm, his body only held by his partners. The tears started falling and falling and falling, shaking his tall body in a terrible silence. Tony gently wiped his cheeks while Wong held him, his arms secured around his waist. Stephen looked at them, shaking and fragile, so pale, so sick. 

When he spoke again, his voice was broken, cracked against his past. 

\- She died and I could not save her and the  _ only _ thing I have of her is a picture I  _ hate _ looking at because I am in it and I hate myself for it and…   
\-  What was she like ? cut Wong, in a soft tone. 

His voice trembled and his fingers were white against his flesh. It was a small sacrifice, his pain to summon the ghost of his late sister ; to have her rise from the grave of his memories. With his tears falling, he let his words fall too. 

She had been the best of them, and her death broke their family. Broke him, because he had not been able to save her (because she would have been ashamed of what he became, cold and closed and having forgotten compassion). But she had been so much more than her death. Moments of laughters and of tears, stupid fights and sibling love. Her surprise when she learnt that her older sister was her older brother, and the brilliant smile she gave him. Her excited ramblings, discussions about friends and family and music and her projects and dreams. The way she laughed and the way she cried. She was a teen, just a teen, full of life, with all her qualities and her flaws. 

And when, tired and empty of his tears and sadness, he fell asleep between his lovers, he could almost feel the ghostly hand of a young teen and her whispered words of thanks.  


End file.
